Humpty Dumpty A Vegeta Story
by Bucky
Summary: *spinoff of Goku and Bulma* After being paralyzed by Kakkarot, a conflicted Vegeta questions his identity and very existence. He leaves earth, and finds himself in the midst of a revolution on another planet that can't be won by brute strength.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: Stef-chan, Blueydmnstr - Two authors who are largely responsible for my reluctant intrigue of Vegeta's character due to their amazing portrayals of the prince in their work. And much thanks goes to another wonderful author, Leia, who beta'd this first chapter for me. Bless you! And of course, cdkobasiuk, whose kinder interpretation of the prince made me think that there was more to him than the insecure spaz with a propensity for buying into his own bullshit - that I made him out to be. grin 

OKAY. This is a spinoff of GOKU AND BULMA. If you haven't read it, or PICCOLO AND CHI CHI, which came before it, then to get you up to speed, Goku came back from the afterlife to find that he'd lost Chi Chi to Piccolo. And he snapped, which is where this picks up. Wanna know how all that happened? Read the prequels. grin

Vegeta _starts out_ shattered in the beginning, and the rest of the story is going to be spent picking up his pieces - hence the title HUMPTY DUMPTY. Like I said, I'm inspired to write this, which means that even I'LL like him by the end. Just heed this small warning - I have never romanticized the Prince of Saiyans, so I tend to be more objective about his character…

WAY more objective.

**

**HUMPTY DUMPTY - A Vegeta Story**

**THE PRINCE OF SAIYANS - AFTER HE WAS DEFEATED BY KAKKAROT…**

It was finished.

His power, his destiny, his very identity... Gone.

With one twitch of Kakkarot's mighty, ascended hand, it shattered. His neck, snapped. As though he were nothing more than a winged waterfowl that needed to be put out of its misery.

_No_, he corrected, unable to give voice to the words, they were _that_ painful. _Not put out of its misery, but left to live by some sadistic act of savagery, surpassing the disgrace of defeat, tenfold._

He knew he couldn't hope it away as some terrifying, twisted dream. Even nightmares weren't this cruel.

A hollow wheezing sound resonated between his ears - louder than the crashing waves, yet eerily...disturbingly...emptier than silence. It took him a moment to recognize it as his own strained breaths as they struggled to pass in and out of his pinched windpipe. His vision blurred, and his face creased in a grimace of denial.

_Not...like...this...!_

Vegeta tried to tilt his head back to cry the injustice at the heavens, but it just lolled around uselessly on his bruised, broken neck.

_Gods! Not like this! _

He clenched his eyes against the only sight his paralyzed state permitted him - that of his limp, dangling body as it hung, heavy as clay, on a splintered tree stump by his shirt. The tattered material twisted around his torso like some demented, mocking noose that hadn't quite done its job.

It was neither a warrior's life nor a warrior's death, but some vile, despicable state in between.

"How could you do this to me, Kakkarot?" he choked in his own collar. "How!?

The words of his nemesis echoed on in his head in a malevolent, demeaning tone.

_…paralysis. To live the rest of your days unable to wipe your own ass, because you were, as always, too weak to beat me. _

He clenced his teeth against the searing memory. A throaty whimper filled his mouth and he tried to burn it away with a scream of rage, but his efforts only served to muffle it in the anguished growls of a maimed predator.

Kakkarot was stronger. He'd always _been_ stronger. Only now Vegeta couldn't fight it with denial or training. His heart was dead. His body, impotent. The point had been driven home quite clearly.

_My legacy. He'll take it,_ he thought in a frenzy as a new clarity surfaced from the chaos of his despair. _The planet. The universe. He'll steal it all, and I'll be powerless to stop him. He could even take..._

His lip curled in a snarl.

_Bulma..._

A quick flashback branded his awareness of the state he'd found Kakkarot and his blue-haired scientist in when he arrived at Roshi's island. They were standing in the sand, their blended forms silvered in the moonlight. As he got closer, he saw Kakkarot's arms snake around Bulma's body, his filthy face buried in her soft neck. At first, Vegeta seethed, his hand twitching to decimate them both where they stood, thinking it was a mutual embrace.

But then he saw her terrified expression; clenched teeth, weeping eyes, quivering lips...struggling hopelessly to push away from the the randy male...

Kakkarot had sensed Vegeta's presence, and dropped her. The two fighters locked stares, and the prince saw the change. He recognized it almost immediately. Kakkarot had somehow reverted back to his Saiyan self, and had been about to take Bulma against her will. It would have been a deliberate slap in Vegeta's face.

_If I hadn't shown up…_

He swallowed hard, left to wonder if his saliva made it past the tweak in his numb esophagus. _Then the inevitable wouldn't have been put off. _

His eyes burned, and his face hurt as disgusting visuals of what Kakkarot would do to Bulma plagued his mind. Perhaps he'd even do them in front of Vegeta's helpless form, if only to spit on what was left of his pride. The prince was no fool. He'd seen the look in Kakkarot's eyes.

_And I can do...nothing..._

In the following cancerous emotion that made him think that Hell would pale in comparison to living, he found himself wondering if this magnitude of despair was what all the sentient beings he'd massacred had felt, knowing everything they held dear - life, destinies…kin - were going to be suddenly, violently snatched from them without adornment or apology…simply because they were lower on the food chain.

He grunted and pushed that thought back as soon as it surfaced, unwilling to be swallowed in the powerful, and totally unfamiliar sentiments that such a notion promised.

_It was my place to destroy them, _he reaffirmed heatedly, trying desperately to retain some semblance of who he was. . _It wasn't right OR wrong. It was balance. The weak exist for the strong to exploit… Any Saiyan warrior knows that._

But a certain Saiyan warrior had just undermined the heritage that not only defined who Vegeta was, but justified his tyrannous existence. And he was left doubting his past deeds...the wonder of it probing at the back of his mind like a long-buried..._something_.

A gust of the night's breeze cooled against his cheeks, followed by the squawk of a descending seagull. He didn't realize his eyes were leaking until he opened them to see the hazy outline of the white bird land at his feet.

It looked up at him curiously, and hopped over to peck jerkily at his shoe with its beak.

He felt his lip twitch. A phantom sensation of his arm reaching to blast the creature tickled his consciousness. But the bird remained, as unmolested and heedful of his presence as a scavenger would be of a carcass. And somehow, that felt worse than all the beatings of Kakkarot combined.

"I'm not _dead_, you...stupid...beast!" he grated through his rapidly constricting throat.

The bird startled and flew off...taunting him with its flight because he couldn't kill it. He couldn't even kill himself.

But then again, if he _had_ the power to kill himself, he'd probably just end up using it against Kakkarot anyhow. A humorless smile tweaked his lips at his still defiant nature, but it was quickly replaced by the frowning grimace of the real sentiment he felt. One so poignantly disturbing, he couldn't even describe it.

_Damn you to hell, Kakkarot!_

As though on some twisted cue, he sensed a displacement in the air around him. A massive pair of legs with a glowing golden mane for a backdrop materialized in his line of view. With it came a power level he respected, despised, and envied all at once. He sucked in a breath and spat at his enemy's shoes. If he could just make him mad enough...

"Finish it, you..._bastard!"_

The thrice-ascended Saiyan stiffened. "Vegeta." He sounded sick. "I...I'm so sorry."

Vegeta blinked. _What...?!_

His view spun as two powerful arms lifted his limp body off its undignified post, until it settled on the face of the being who had done more damage to Vegeta's soul than years of employ under Frieza.

And it was creased in the most pained apology he'd ever seen.

"Vegeta, I...I would have never..." Kakkarot paused mid-sentence, and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, his eyes shimmering with regret. "I didn't mean what I said."

No sarcasm. No harsness to his tone. The earth-raised warrior who had out-Saiyaned the prince in raw power, skill _and_ cold-heartedness; whose capacity for malevolence made Vegeta look like a damned do-gooder...

Had snapped out of it.

And his pathetic apology was more humiliating than leaving him paralyzed in the first place. "You don't..._apologize_," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Like it was an...ACCIDENT!"

Kakkarot swallowed, his visage scrunching unbearably. "I wasn't myself--"

"You _mock_ me with your...pity," he choked, pushing through the emotion in his voice. "YOU MOCK OUR ENTIRE RACE!"

Kakkarot's mouth hung open, then closed, confusion tainting the anguish in his eyes. Vegeta wanted to scream.

_You are a Saiyan warrior, you imbecile! You don't apologize for being so powerful. You don't show compassion to those weaker. You don't disgrace me further by showing guilt! _But most of his words couldn't make it past the lump in his throat, and all that came out were the two most significant ones.

"YOU...WON!"

Kakkarot's eyes widened, as though he'd just seen something in Vegeta's face that made him understand to a small degree. "That means nothing--"

"It means everything!" Vegeta's voice hitched and he looked away.

An awkward silence passed between them, until Kakkarot broke it with another foolish attempt at consolation. "There is more to live for than fighting, Vegeta," he said, his voice low. Serious. "I never thought myself a better person because I was stronger."

"Sp-spare me, Kakkarot."

Another pause, and then Vegeta felt the breath of Kakkarot's heavy sigh on his face.

A split second later, they were at the Lookout.

His ears were abruptly filled with howling, baritone screams. The noises were so torturous, they made Frieza's interrogation victims sound like they'd been having a good time.

It momentarily distracted him. Still draped over Kakkarot's arms like a wet towel, he tilted his head enough to see Dende stand away from… _Good hell…_

_The namek…_

In that moment, he was grateful he didn't have the nerves to feel nauseated, for what he saw would have made even his inoculated stomach feel queasy. Piccolo…or rather, what was left of Piccolo, was laying on the tiles in palpable agony. His limbs were completely gone…severed at the top, his torso flopping sickly in a pool of indigo blood like a fish in a puddle.

It was so gruesome, Vegeta almost failed to notice Gohan standing there, three times his usual size with great golden hair cascading down to his ankles.

_He's...he's just as powerful as his sire..._ Vegeta felt the last of his defiance ebb away like a fading mirage. _Did I ever...have a chance?!_

"Why isn't it working?!" Gohan cried over Piccolo's screams at Dende, who looked for all the world like he was about to cry. "All you did was restore his nerve endings!"

"He has to regenerate himself," the teenage guardian responded, his wide, moist eyes not leaving Piccolo's body. "I could only give him the strength to do it."

Piccolo roared and snapped on the ground, veins bulging in a pain that no warrior could withstand. Vegeta didn't know the namek could look so blindly feral.

"Piccolo," Gohan uttered as he knelt by his dismembered mentor. "Come on, old friend. I can't take you back to mom like this."

As though in response, a wet sloshing sound carried across the tile as a green limb sprouted from the warrior's thigh stump. It was followed by a thunderous growl as his other leg popped out. Each exhale was a gravelly pant, the air hissing in and out of the namek's fanged teeth, until finally his last two limbs grew anew from the carnage.

Everyone visibly relaxed, including Piccolo who let his head fall heavily back on the floor, his chest heaving in great shuddering breaths. He closed his eyes, and Vegeta, for a brief moment, was grateful that _he_ wasn't the one who had stolen Chi Chi during the Saiyan's absence.

Kakkarot had wreaked havoc indeed.

Vegeta's view shifted as his carrier flexed his grip, obviously struggling with a colossal surge of guilt.

A sudden effeminate gasp made Vegeta flinch, and he heard the quick patter of bare feet on tile coming towards them. He knew who it was before she even said his name.

"Vegeta!" Bulma appeared in his line of view, her worried hands wringing under her chin. She was still dressed in a night shirt, looking more frazzled than composed. He hated that she saw him like this, but for reasons he didn't care to identify, he _had_ to see that she was untouched.

Her hair was dissheveled, and her complexion, pale. But she seemed composed, and he quickly looked away, unable to meet her concerned stare. Ever the proactive one, Bulma cried for the healer.

"Dende!"

The cool tile pressed against his head as Kakkarot laid him down, and the young guardian scuttled over. He put his hands on him without hesitating, and Vegeta cringed inside.

_You look almost identical to your brothers_, he thought soberly, recalling without warning the namekian tenderlings that he'd slaughtered back on Namek.

The same doubting feeling he pushed back earlier swamped his senses anew, and he recoiled from it. _There are billions of lifeforms who would applaud at my demise, namekian. You should be one of them, dammit. Where the hell are your loyalties?_

"Don't heal me, brat," he said in a whisper. "Don't you dare." 

The guardian blinked and leaned back.

"Ignore him, Dende," Bulma said heatedly. "Heal him."

Unable to stop them, Vegeta closed his eyes as the power surged through him via those trembling green hands, giving life to one who took it, reconnecting ripped nerves and tendons. The healing. The crutch. The cheat. And it surprised him that he could despise his failure even more when it was complete.

And it also surprised him that despite a healthy, regenerated form, he still felt terminally ill inside. And he morbidly wondered how long a body could live when its soul was dead.

"Gohan, I can take you both back," Kakkarot said with more emotion in his voice than any Saiyan should ever have. It directed Vegeta's withdrawn attention briefly to the namek. Gohan had hoisted himself up under Piccolo's large frame, the later leaning weakly on the powerful hybrid for support. He lifted his emerald face to look at Kakkarot with weary exasperation, and shook his head, 'no'.

Gohan pursed his lips, and locked stares with his sire. "I can take him, dad. Don't worry."

A strained silence passed as Gohan levitated them both up into the air. Kakkarot shifted uneasily.

"Piccolo, I'm--"

The namek held a hand up to silence the guilt-ridden Saiyan, and before more apologies could be made, they shot off the edge of the Lookout.

Suddenly, all the attention was back on Vegeta, and he found himself shrinking from it. From their pity. From their accursed compassion. Bulma knelt beside him and he pushed her aside and stood to his feet. His body was healed, his strength returned, but the sickening self-deprecation that hunched his shoulders and sucked the straightness from his spine still made him feel paralyzed.

Kakkarot put a restraining hand on his arm. "Vegeta, I never intended--"

"Be quiet, Goku," Bulma said reproachfully. The scientist. _She_ could see it. Vegeta knew she could, so he averted his eyes to keep from giving her a keyhole view of the tempest raging inside his head.

Then, feeling what was left of his sanity start to slip, he pushed through them and lunged off the Lookout. They wouldn't follow him. _That_, at least, he was sure of.

It was the _only_ thing he was sure of.

The wind ripped at his face, and tugged at his hair as he sliced through the air friction. It unexpectedly hurt, like a tangible reminder that flesh and bone were nothing without a will to guide them. Without passion. Without a sense of self.

As he flew, the recollection of Kakkarot's sneering face blinded his vision, laughing at him as though he'd been an utter fool to buy so completely into his own superiority. Vegeta reflexively defied his insecurities with his mantra.

_But I am a prince! _

On cue, the blood roared in his ears. But for the first time, the rage failed to course through his veins. His words were drowned out by a sick, defeaning crack. The sound of his downfall. The move that had left him as motionless as a corpse. The moment he'd been indisputably defeated...ruined...dethroned.

By a third class Saiyan.

"Nngh..!" He stopped abruptly, mid flight, and hovered in the air with his head in his hands.

_What's left for me?! _The question burned in his chest, making it hard to breathe. _Where's my place in this wretched existence of lesser beings? _

The answer came - clear as a lightning strike...fragile as a snowflake in a sandstorm...

_Not here._

Saiyan instincts were all he had left, and those told him that Kakkarot was the dominant male. That this was _his _planet. For now.

It was the only rationale he could trust in the aftermath of this cataclysmic upheaval of his identity. So he latched onto it, letting it guide him like a candle in the dark.

And the candle dictated that Vegeta leave the earth.

So he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:Ya know, I wouldn't have been inspired to write this had Vegeta Jr. not been inspired first (he's got some classic comedy fics, btw!). I gave him permission to expound on Vegeta's post ass-whoopin' journies in space, and he was kind enough to give the permission back to me. It was reading his fic that put the idea in my head in the first place!  
And dude. The only reason Vegeta isn't on his knees repenting by the third chapter in this fic is because piccolosfire has been kind enough to be my Prince-of-Saiyans-OOC-Detector. Help I needed.  
BADLY. **

**Chapter 2**

Vegeta grimaced and twitched on the floor of the spaceship, a burn the size of a namekian's head searing the skin of his back. He swore at himself. He should have caught the ki blast. Kakkarot most certainly would have.

But he was tired. Seven days had passed since he'd left. A hundred and sixty-eight hours. One week…of recycled air, cold metal floors, and triple-processed food.

And sparring. Above all else, sparring. Whether it was out of habit, desire to surpass his nemesis, or in effort to distract himself from his own abysmal thoughts, it didn't matter.

He just knew he had to.

Growling with each breath, he lifted his face away from the 400g pull and measured how far away the switch was.

_Ugh. Damn far... _

Clawing his fingers into the smooth floor, he forced his protesting muscles to slump his battered body onward, fighting the dizzying black spots that thwarted his vision with sheer doggedness.

He extended his arm, and heaved. He brought his knee up and pushed. Again, and again, until all he saw was the bloody haze of the red button. It grew gradually until it was within his reach, and he raised an oscillating hand up to turn off the enhanced gravity mechanism.

And stopped himself.

What the hell am I doing?!

Ignoring the pain of his self-inflicted wounds, and batting aside the subliminal red flags, he heaved himself up against the control panel to gain his footing. It took a rush of crazed adrenaline, but he would defy his body. He would push himself _beyond _the breaking point.

Vegeta would train.

But the sweat on his palms caused him to slip, and the gravity yanked his head down on the panel with a sickening starry crack. Next time he saw straight, he was staring up at the ceiling with a blurry ache behind his eyes that surpassed the sting of his burnt flesh tenfold.

He blinked exhaustedly, and raised a hand up to his bloodied forehead, noticing as he did so that the gravity had been turned off. It occurred to him that his skull must have hit the switch, despite his efforts not to. He snarled at his body.

_Disobedient lump of flesh._

His stomach growled at him in response, and he could almost hear its snide rebuke. _Idiot. When was the last time you ate?_

He glanced over at the refrigerator. He hated stopping. For anything. Without the distraction of exerting his physical form, his thoughts were inexorably drawn inward. And his mind wasn't the most stable of places to be at the moment. He could already hear Kakkarot's mocking laughter creep into the rumbling roar of the ship's jets.

_Laugh it up now, you imbecile. It won't be so funny when I come back and kill you,_ he grated silently. Reflexively. Emptily.

His words lacked momentum…conviction. He felt it. Knew it. Even now, several earth days later, his visions of returning and getting his revenge were tainted with the promise of another humiliating defeat. And again, he was forced to contemplate his own significance in the shadow of Kakkarot's indisputable strength. Again, he resisted.

"He can't replace me…" he rebutted instinctively. "If that were possible, then everything I've lived for…everything I've _done_ is a lie."

Vegeta winced, and cursed himself for saying the words aloud. He tried to take them back, but they lodged in that growing void created by his defeat, weighted down with more substance than his declaration of royal Saiyan superiority.

Growling defiance, he stumbled to his feet, and staggered back towards the gravity switch. This time he wouldn't stop for the needs of the body.

Hence, his insolent stomach rumbled again. He swore at it, and turned, throwing all his frustrations into a ki blast. It was a stupid thing to do - something that he realized as soon as the refrigerator exploded and remnants of food rained all about the chamber in damp, chilled clumps. A leaf of cabbage landed in his hair.

_Shit._

The mess unexpectedly had a sobering effect, and sighing his defeat, he reluctantly trudged over to a mutton wedged in the twisted heap of what was left of the refrigerator, and began to rip at it with his teeth.

He delved his attention into the task at hand, trying not to let his mind wander as it tended to do when he wasn't training. But the loud wet grind of his masticating jaw, and audible swallows made him think of the scientist. She always complained about how loudly he ate. She complained about a lot of things.

Bulma even had the audacity to insist he not leave. As though he'd had a choice. The unpleasant moment of his departure replayed in his head before he realized where his train of thought would inevitably lead him, and he flinched at the panicked desperation in her tone from when she'd caught him on the ramp of the ship.

_"Vegeta! Where are you going?" _

"I don't know."

"When will you be back?!"

"Maybe never."

"You can't just abandon us like that! What about me? And Trunks?"

"I don't expect you to understand."

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Don't let this beat you Vegeta-"

"It already has!" he yelled, cursing himself for letting so much emotion into his own voice. "You can't change my nature Bulma. I've been defeated… Mocked. I have no place on this planet."

"You're delusional!"

"I'm Saiyan."

I'm Saiyan… 

It explained all, and yet she'd acted as though it explained nothing. Vegeta sighed heavily. There wasn't a being left alive who knew what that truly meant, save himself. If only there'd been someone around who understood…

Vegeta stiffened, mid-swallow. There _had _been someone. Radditz. Nappa. His comrades for most of his life. He absently dropped the meat, his stare fixing on some random point in the room as a solemn connection was made.

Radditz had died at the hands of his Saiyan brother. Nappa had died at the hands of himself, a Saiyan prince. And had Kakkarot been any weaker, Vegeta would have succeeded in eliminating any residual trace of his species.

A certain callousness he'd once been proud of suddenly didn't sit so well.

_Were we doomed from the beginning? _The notion left him wondering if his people would have killed themselves off, given time, had Frieza never taken the liberty of doing so first.

He shook himself, but the disconcerting train of thought continued, with one savage word ringing clear above the rest.

_Cannibals…_

A warrior race of blood-thirsty tyrants, eating their own kind until only the last…the strongest was left. It wasn't a love of heritage, but a love of power.

And he couldn't help but to question where the honor lay in exterminating one's own species.

_Gods…_

Vegeta swallowed, his eyes wide and staring.

_Even…wild dogs…don't slaughter themselves into extinction…_

What little sense of self he'd regained since his defeat was swallowed back up in a new, perverse identity crisis that had nothing to do with Kakkarot.

But he was mercifully saved from a disturbing session of self-analysis by a piercing electronic beep. It pushed through his blitzing attention with an even cadence, and he finally looked over to the panel where a red and gray planet popped up on the navigation screen.

His destination. Already.

Vegeta got to his feet and stumbled over to the control panel. He needed to ready the ship for the drop into the atmosphere of the one place that might be able to suck him out of the mire of his past, and stand him on his feet again.

A place where he'd be treated like royalty, yet given the privacy he required, and the land for training.

Planet Vicodin. Home of the Chosen. Prison of the Curs.

It would welcome him with open arms.

Vicodin's unique horizon bisected Vegeta's view as he stared out the bubble window, neither fully light, nor fully dark, but colored in some perpetual day's end that brushed the curve of the globe in a bleeding, swirling rust.

Most of the planet was unlivable, which is what kept it safe from xenocide. Its axis actually pointed _towards_ the sun, baking over half the red-sanded globe in a scourging heat. The remaining portion survived only in a state of never-ending night, its only exposure to the sun being a cyclic dusk and dawn that peaked at opposite hours. And that's where its people lived, as superstitious and fanatic as Vegeta had ever seen.

He, Nappa and Radditz had used it as a servicing station when their employ under Frieza brought them to the North Quadrant.

Upon first contact with the Vicodians, the Saiyan prince had attempted to strong-arm them into subjugation by blowing up one of their three moons. But it turned out that the moon he destroyed emitted cancerous rays for their species, and instead of fearing Vegeta as a tyrant, they worshipped him as a god.

Which was fine by him.

On his occasional stop, they would house him with every luxury imaginable, most of which he rejected as excess - but still a better set up than starting from scratch elsewhere.

The city grew as he descended over it, the smudged, dreary ring of the outer circle contrasting sharply with the blue lighting of the inner province, whose light softly profiled his folded, unwavering form like the moonlight outlines a shadow. It called to him, promising nothing, but offering _something_. Anything. As long as it fueled his anger enough to burn away the despair. _Then_ he'd return and take what was rightfully his.

And Kakkarot would pay.

His dark thoughts were redirected when the ship vibrated, shifting through a series of gears as it landed on the platform built specifically for Vegeta so many years ago. He took a deep breath, rehearsing their language in his head. He'd changed into a clean set of clothes, not because he felt any need to impress them, but because he didn't want the religious zealots worrying over his self-inflicted wounds.

He could already see the extravagantly cloaked forms of the Chosen scurrying outside, some bowing at his ship while others knelt in awed reverence, the words, _'He's returned!'_ forming on their lips.

He rolled his eyes, more disgusted at their ignorant display of worship than flattered. The ramp opened and he strode out projecting his usual aggravation with ease.

He jerked his chin at the nearest prostrate Vicodian. "You there. Who is the residing dynast of this abysmal planet?"

The individual lifted a trembling head, and it took Vegeta a moment to re-adjust his perception to their physical appearance. Vicodians looked for all the universe like humanoid badgers. White fur streaked with black grew short and soft - while their manes grew thick and long. Their tails bushed out behind them, some high, some low depending on their caste. They were wild to behold, but not unpleasant.

"Lord V-Vegeta," he stammered nervously, his bifurcated lips chewing on the prince's name with a throaty accent. "The prophet king is Dynast Tweak, O Vegeta, most holy servant of Ganja."

"I am no one's servant!" Vegeta spat reflexively, recalling Ganja as their idyllic god. "Tweak, is it? That old fool is still alive?"

The Vicodian's slanted eyes widened at the disrespectful title, and after a moment, nodded mutely.

"Hn." His attention was drawn towards the perimeter of the outer circle, where scuttling forms ambulated in the shadows. He flicked a steady glance in that direction, catching light reflecting off of skittish, slivered eyes. _The Curs. _Same species, but lower caste, dressed in tattered grays instead of elegant violets. Their sole despicable existence was to be taxed to death so that they could support the useless, idle Chosen. Vegeta turned away from them with a mental shrug. He'd seen worse political exploitations.

"We can send out the sacred guard, Lord Vegeta, to chase off the lesser creatures if they bother you."

_Lesser creatures..._ Vegeta went rigid as the words triggered something primal in him. Something ignored for far too long.

Suddenly, his vision turned red. The form before him blurred as he was bombarded with an unexpected hallucination of planet Vicodin - its spiraling, holy buildings reduced to smoldering heaps of rubble; its busy commercial streets swamped with blood, caked with carcasses, Chosen and Cur alike. All trampled underfoot, fodder for his insatiable bloodlust. Their piercing screams of terror rang in his ears, giving him the heady, intoxicating sensation of absolute power, total domination.

His coherence grew inebriated with the caleidescope of carnage. His heart raced at the promise of it. His hand twitched to act on it. It would be so easy. So empowering. So..._Saiyan_.

"L-Lord V-Vegeta?"

Vegeta blinked.

"Are you well?"

His dialated eyes focussed, and he saw the Vicodian cowering nearly to the cement. He could smell the creature's fear, and practically lost his hold. "Get up, you fool," he panted. "GET UP!"

The Vicodian scrambled to his feet, but it did little good. Its wide eyes were still glossed with terror. Vegeta balled his trembling hands into fists.

"Never show your fear, Vicodian," he grated through clenched teeth. "There are beings who prey on such weakness. Do you understand?!"

Its mouth opened mutely, and after a moment of confused silence, it nodded, clearly having no idea.

_I am a prince, not given to whim or impulse,_ Vegeta reminded himself forcefully, remembering that the euphoria of mayhem was a temporary sensation...a high followed by an inevitable low.

"Take me to your dynast," he barked, barely maintaining the thin hold he had on his rampaging instincts. He averted his eyes from the timid Vicodian, who to him was just begging to be slaughtered. His narrowed gaze landed on a towering white temple in the center of the inner province, and he exhaled a shuddering breath. "Or better yet, I'll take myself."

* * *

**A/N: Dude. I just gotta say that there isn't a more messed up place to be than inside Vegeta's head. Especially in THIS story. Oh. And bear with me on the silly nomenclature. I'm working with a theme, here. (btw - in my Nail fic, Axle and her crew were all named after motorcycle parts, fyi.) **


	3. Chapter 3

**  
**

**Chapter 3**

As he flew over it, Vegeta's gaze was drawn to the city below like a palm tree to sunlight. He hadn't felt such a powerful urge to wreak havoc since the time _before_ all he could think about was beating Kakkarot. The violent calling had caught him completely unawares, and it took every ounce of royal discipline he had not to shower the city with ki blasts as he flew across it to its center.

Unable to look away, he forced himself to focus on the Vicodian's aptitude for living instead of their predisposition for death. He beheld the inner province below as though seeing it for the first time. The Chosen lived extravagantly, their housing like sea coral; cylindrical, seashell white, and spacious. Granted, were it not for the impressive collection of outdoor lamps that brightened the streets in false daylight, it would have been as dull and dreary as the considerably larger Cur district.

Vegeta's eyes rolled to the dismal outer circle, whose narrow, cobblestone streets and tightly stacked housing seemed to be structured out of the very shadows it was blanketed with. Where the Chosen had ample lighting, the Curs had little, occasional lanterns casting murky hazes over the darkened community. Though commercial in parts, the lower caste was weighted down with oppression, their sense of self-worth as low as the Chosens' was elevated.

He neared the shimmering, temple in the center of the city, spiraling up to the heavens as though its inhabitants were direct links to deity. Narrowing his eyes, he located the balcony of the main chamber. Two seconds later, he touched down and strode tensely through the violet-curtained frame.

A smattering of Vicodians, cloaked in brilliant hues of blues and purples startled, bumping into each other like frenzied ants at his entrance. The cluster spit out their prophet king, Dynast Tweak, who pratically fell at Vegeta's feet.

"O great servant of Ganja-"

"Don't-"

"You're here, and could not have come to our aid at a more troubled time," said the dynast in a voice twice as warbled as Vegeta remembered. The old critter got to his feet, barely reaching Vegeta's shoulder as he did so, but his snaggle-toothed exhale blew up in Vegeta's face, a putrid waft of rotting innards. Vegeta's lip curled in disgust.

_No leader should be allowed to continue ruling a people at this decrepit age._

Tweak's fur had grown dull and patchy, his eyes lackluster. He looked like a tortured lab rat, and about half as sane. But the irony of his haggard appearance was his attire. Adorned in the finely spun material of Vicodin's holy priesthood, he was cloaked in metallic hues, with a well-fastened cap of precious metal. His fingers were so weighted down with rings that Vegeta wondered how it was that his puny arms defied gravity. It was like playing dress up with a carcass.

"There has been an insurrection among the Curs," he breathed. "Sinful, _wicked_ radicals have been poisoning the minds of the lower caste with false doctrines!"

Having an issue flung in his face the moment he arrived distracted Vegeta, and he found himself wondering at what point Tweak had gone from knowingly exploiting religion for political leverage to actually buying into his own bullshit.

"Their blasphemous leader calls himself Mohonro Vronesh," he trembled. "But he is elusive, Lord Vegeta. Ever, ever elusive. The only trace of him we find are these…"

The feeble dynast grabbed a handful of yellow parchments off the nearby desk and balled them in his gnarled fists. Spittle frothed on his wrinkled lips. "These vile, accursed documents that defy Ganja and his children!" He waved them in Vegeta's face, and he caught a couple titles of the fliers, headlining fine-print articles below.

_**Dynast Tweak - The Pompous Pretender  
Eradicate the Hierarchy - Equality for the Curs!**_

Vegeta kept a snide remark to himself, deciding already that this Mohonro Vronesh was justified in wanting to toss the useless elites out on their holy asses. The caste system was superficial. They didn't even segregate by power levels.

"Already Ganja has punished us," Tweak cried, his yellowed eyes skittish. "The ground shook mightily but a few days ago."

_An earthquake. _Vegeta rolled his eyes. _Idiots._ His head hurt, and his body ached from earlier, and his patience was wearing thin.

"But we found them, Lord Vegeta. A tribe of non-believers on the horizon! Evil ran thick through their blood, for amongst them was a black-furred cub. A freakish thing. We will sacrifice it on the morrow, and then you can ask the Great Ganja to forgive us--"

"Silence!" Vegeta snapped, fighting a powerful urge to rip Dynast Tweak's tongue out and slap him in the face with it. "I didn't come here to listen to you flap your lips!"

Tweak shrank back from him, and immediately bowed his head. "My apologies, Lord Vegeta. I thought-"

"I want accommodations and above all else, I want PRIVACY."

"Whatever you-"

"NOW!"

After a week of space travel and relentless self-sparring, Vegeta was actually able to sleep soundly once he got to his secluded quarters at the base of the temple. So soundly, as a matter of fact, that when he woke up, he'd completely forgotten where he was.

He blinked in the darkness, his sense of smell assaulted by spiced meats and floral aromas. He stiffened, and his fingers dug into the silken pad underneath him as his heart thumped in his ears.

His vision adjusted slowly, aided by a soft glow that filtered through the heavy drapes of a circular window. Cream, sandstone walls were the first things he made out, then the cylindrical, pillowy furnishings that were scattered in a deliberate fashion about the room. But it wasn't until he saw the purple and blue insignia hanging over the arch of the entryway that it all came back to him.

_Planet Vicodin._

He exhaled heavily and sank back into the sleeping pad. His head no longer hurt, and his body was less traumatized. No one was around, and for a short, blissful moment, he gave into the post-slumber lethargy, and let himself relax. But it wasn't ten seconds before his alert mind dropped him into that familiar, uneasy ache. The one that made him wish he could leave his body just so he wouldn't have to endure his own presence.

He sat up. _I need to train…_

He stood, and his head swam. _But first, food…_

His feet thumped along the porous spongey flooring. His residence consisted of a spacious front room, the back room and lavatory, and a pantry sectioned off of the hallway, which is where he went first. He inhaled the assortment of Vicodian jerky and meaty vegetables left for him, and five minutes later, only a portion of the food remained.

Feeling much better for the effort, he made for the door. He would go beyond the outskirts of the city to the desert land on the horizon, and self-spar, unmolested and uninhibited.

Then he remembered his clothes, and looked down with disgust. They wouldn't last a half hour. Useless slacks and a black shirt - what he'd thrown on when he arrived in an effort to cover up his wounds. And in his hurry to leave earth, he hadn't exactly taken the time to pack.

_Damn…_

His eyes scanned the room and located the complimentary sack of currency they always left for him. Next to it was a long, black cloak of the Chosen. It was another benefit. Thanks to their customary fashion, he could walk through the streets disguised. The last thing he needed was the unwanted attention of slobbering worshippers.

Throwing it on and drawing the hood around his face, he pocketed a handful of currency, and left. There was a shop in the Cur district that was renowned for its sturdy material, which was the closest thing he could get to what Bulma used to make for him.

Vegeta noticed as he paced down the brightened streets that they were empty. It was the peak of dusk, about to slip into another nightfall. There should have been at least _some_ Vicodians about. He continued on, and perked as his ears caught the feint hum of commotion. It came from up ahead…from the direction he was going.

_They've gathered…_

He was half tempted to put off his necessary errand, but procrastination wasn't in his nature. At all. He trudged on, grumbling internally as the noise crescendoed. Then, on the border of the inner province, he saw it.

A tower. Perhaps forty feet high, and made of red clay. It looked like a pyramid, its steep steps leading all the way to an open room on top. As he neared, he saw the sea of Vicodians at its base, both the cloaked figures of the Chosen and the raggedy forms of the Curs. Segregated on opposite sides, but together for the same spectacle.

By the sheer numbers in attendance, Vegeta figured the owner of the material stand was amongst them, so he hung on the outer perimeter of the gathered elite, letting curiosity ground him for a few minutes.

There was a great agitation. A palpable nervousness. He thought his alien presence would be concealed within the folds of his black cloak, but a few heads turned, their noses peeking from under the shadows of their hoods, crinkling at what he could only assume was his scent. Vegeta took another step back, making a mental note to take a shower once he finished training that day.

"O mighty and merciful Ganja!" cried a shrill voice from atop the tower. Vegeta looked up and saw a gaudy, Chosen acolyte with his hands raised to the sky. His voice turned off the murmuring of the crowd like a switch, and all craned their necks in unison to behold him.

"We have purged our presence of the non-believers, and ask for your blessing with a sacrifice."

Another acolyte scurried up to him atop the tower and handed him a small black bundle. It didn't take Vegeta long to figure out that it was a Vicodian cub. Then he remembered Dynast Tweak's words.

_"But we found them, Lord Vegeta. A tribe of non-believers on the horizon! Evil ran thick through their blood, for amongst them was a black-furred cub. A freakish thing. We will sacrifice it on the morrow…"_

"With the shed blood of this wicked spawn, we ask thee to cleanse our planet, and pacify it, so that it may not tremble at our weakness."

Vegeta could hear the helium-pitched wails of the furry little thing as it was placed ceremoniously on an altar atop the tower. He shrugged, and tried to look away, but his eyes flicked back up to the tower, as though yanked by some unseen force. He caught the gleam of a long, curved blade as it raised in the air over the cub.

_The kid's better off in the next dimension anyhow_, he told himself. _The fools are doing it a service._

Infanticide was as common among the Saiyans as power struggles. If it hadn't been, he hated to think what handicaps would have tainted the perfect genetics of his people. Vegeta had seen plenty of children slain - by his own hands, no less. He was acclimated to the practice. Totally indifferent. It didn't matter to him one way or another how these religious zealots appeased their fabricated god…

…which is why it surprised the holy hell out of him, two seconds later, when the tower exploded from a deliberately-aimed ki blast, and Vegeta found himself hovering high in the air with a warm, frightened, black cub tucked under his arm.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Smoking red blocks ejected from the tower's sides, raining down on the surrounding spectators in a godstorm of fire and brimstone. The screams of the sacrificial acolytes escalated above the rest as what remained of the edifice toppled inward, swallowing their cloaked forms alive in the rubble. Then, that set off a chain reaction that ricocheted through the spectators like an electric current. Panicked Vicodians ran about screaming as they dodged the debris, bumping into each other like ping pongs in a vacuum. Pandemonium abounded. 

And Vegeta hovered up in the air, stupefied, with the cub frightened stiff against his ribs. He looked at the chaos. Then he looked at the cub. Back at the chaos. Back at the cub.

_…the hell?_

It was mute with terror. That much was clear. He could drop it back in the crowd. Quickly. So no one would see. Then let them make of it what they would.

But the dust from the tower billowed out like a cloud of ill omen, further inducing the crowd to hysterics. The kid would be trampled. And if not trampled, no doubt slain to appease their angry God.

But the angry God was Vegeta. And he was still trying to assimilate what just happened.

_"Shit_."

The cub's ears twitched at his spoken profanity, and it swiveled its head around to look at him. Vegeta stared.

It was unique. Undeniably unique, with completely opposite coloring than that of the generic Vicodian. Where their fur was white striped with black, the cub's fur was a shiny black streaked with white. And its mane was snowy instead of raven, and as billowy as a cloud. But the features were only adornment to the terrified expression on the thing's face.

Vegeta could hear the unvoiced cries on its quivering lips, he could feel the trauma of a disrupted world through its tiny, trembling limbs… He could see the slaughter of its people in the little cub's eyes.

He blinked. _Those eyes…_ Large, and blue. Ridiculously blue.

They struck something familiar in him. Something deep. Instantly uneasy with the association, he tried to steer his train of thought elsewhere, but a determined memory flitted across his awareness of similar eyes, staring up at him just as intensely, of a five-year old hybrid he'd left back on earth.

He hissed and clenched his eyes. _Damn damn damn!_

For no other reason than not knowing what else to do, Vegeta shot off towards his residence, cub in hand, having the wildly disturbing sensation of watching a complete stranger control his body, and do things with it he would never do.

He slammed the door behind him, and made sure the windows were covered with their spongey drapes. A small orb in the corner of the front room emanated an orangish light that reflected lazily off the sandstone walls. Vegeta spat and uncurled the trembling child from his clutches and held it up by the scruff of its neck. "Just what the hell am I supposed to do with you, huh?"

It looked at him, still stunned from the flight over. And 'it' was a 'she' Vegeta determined as he noticed the lack of external organs. He scowled and dropped the small female on one of the plush seat pillows against the wall, and began to pace.

"I came here for myself," he said, waving his arms in angry gestures. "To train so I could go back and defeat Kakkarot. And now I'm stuck with a mutated runt in a society of fanatical, idiotic zealots who are governed by the most stinking insane, fossil of a dynast I've ever come across," he turned to face the cub, whose eyes had begun to water. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "I'm not going to keep you, you know. This is absurd."

The traumatized child's heart had finally slowed enough to let it get emotional. Vegeta winced as the first tears rolled down her downy rounded cheeks, and she immediately began to cry in a piercing hiccupping whimper.

"Be quiet!" he hissed, fearing someone would hear her. "You sound like a damned cricket!"

She continued sobbing, and he went over and bore down on her. "I don't need Vicodian freaks on my doorstep asking me why I rescued their sacrifice and blew up their temple. Do you understand? I didn't come here seeking attention. I came here seeking solitude!"

Undeterred, she just threw her head back, unlocked her jaw and howled. Amongst other things, it amazed Vegeta how such a soft little critter could project so much noise. Instinctively, he picked her up and curled a hand around the cub's mouth, stifling her cries. He felt his eyebrow twitch in rising anxiety.

Just then, he felt a series of weaker kis returning to their homes. They were running, no doubt spurred on by the fact that their temple was just obliterated by the 'hand of god'.

He hurried to the back room with the hysterical thing, who was convulsing with muffled sobs. Growing desperate, he rallied back and forth between stopping the cub's cries permanently, or…

"If you're not quiet, brat, then they're going to find you and kill you," he said with a little less heat in his words. "And I won't stop them next time. I shouldn't have intervened in the first place."

Vegeta realized that the little female was probably too young for much language. Maybe two Vicodian years. Barely. But she must have understood enough, because she bit back her next cry and quieted. He exhaled audibly and relaxed his hand against her teeny bifurcated mouth and sat down on the edge of the sapphire sleeping cushion with the cub in his lap.

"Just shut up until I can figure out a way to get rid of you," he whispered, as he sensed some life forces of the Chosen passing by his residence. The little one's shuddering lessened, and he wondered why. Was it his quieter tone? Or perhaps…

_Agh, hell._

His proximity. She had taken advantage of his loose grip to spin around and burrow her way into his cloak like a cursed marsupial pup, curling up next to his abdomen. He tensed and stopped himself from flinging her across the room. She was being quiet, and that's what he was going for, wasn't it? He sighed and rolled his eyes.

_The mighty prince of a proud warrior race reduced to being a nursemaid for a worthless whelp of a critter._

"If you were a Saiyan child, I would whip you bloody for acting so pathetic," he said in hushed tones, recalling her whimpers from earlier, and which annoying earth insect they'd reminded him of. "Damn cricket."

Another sob wracked through her body, and he absently rested a hand against her to keep her still. Despite his knee-jerk reaction to make her a scapegoat for his earlier lapse of judgment, Vegeta found that it was difficult to place much blame on the thing. "Granted, it's not like courage has a place in this self-defeating society of Vicodian nincompoops. I suppose it's not your fault you were never taught."

In response, tiny, helium-pitched sounds emanated from her mouth, and she slipped her head out of the cloak to look up at him. At first, he thought she was going to start up bawling again, but she repeated it, and he realized that the noises were articulated.

"Mom-," hiccup, sniff, "-ma-dada?"

_Ugh. Her parents._

"Hmph. Typical. Another foolish dependency that most of you lesser species seem to have," he muttered.

She spasmed under his hand and he was abruptly struck by how vulnerable the cub was. As fragile as a glass hammer. He could kill her with one of his sneezes. She might never be right in the head after what happened, anyhow. It had always disgusted him how weaker beings were unable to cope with trauma. She'd most likely end up insane.

She chimed for her mother and father again, looking up at him with... _Agh. Damn those eyes..._ Vegeta narrowed his stare and looked at the bulge against his stomach. "They're gone," he said, "but I could send you to them."

She stiffened and gazed up into his stern face with a hopeful, pleading expression. Her black velvety ears even perked through her white mane at the words.

For some reason it made his chest ache. He cursed himself again for his current circumstance. He'd done nothing but prolong her misery by saving her life. It had been utterly pointless. "The next dimension is good to children. You'd certainly be happier there."

She blinked, her eyes not leaving his. Complying, he cradled his hand around the back of her skull. It would take one twitch. Quick and painless. She'd be decapitated before the nerves could even relay the message to her brain that it hurt.

He nodded, decisively. It would be the best thing. For both of them. His hand tensed, on the ready. His lips pursed in anticipation.

But the warm throbbing pulse of her life force thumped under his fingertips, and her tiny chest expanded against his gut with each living breath. She blinked wetly, her sapphire eyes windows to a potent soul and the promise of a dignified future.

All telling him that she was very much alive. Too alive.

He swore, and dropped his hand.

Her bottom lip started to quiver again, and he extracted her squirming form from the folds of his cloak and placed her on the mattress next to him. "I'd have to kill you, and I…," he swallowed, refusing to say a certain two words in _that_ order. "I've decided not to." _Right. That's it. My decision._ He rolled his eyes. _Just like I 'decided' to be beat by Kakkarot._

She blinked at him and instead of protesting, sank into the cushion, with her chin on her paws as water leaked at an alarming rate from her eyes.

Having the feeling that this was just the beginning of his own self-betrayal, Vegeta stood shakily and ran his hands through his hair, clasping them behind his neck. He tilted his head to the ceiling. "Gods. I should have never come here."

He couldn't take her with him to train. And he couldn't leave her in the residence. She was just a cub. She'd no doubt whine, and someone would find her. Then she'd be killed, and he would be swarmed with worshippers begging to know what the God wanted. And then to compound things, the stupidly structured society was on the brink of a political revolution that no doubt would have interrupted his stay anyhow.

Vegeta looked up. _Political revolution…_ Their leader, Vronesh, would no doubt take the female child in. Anyone intelligent enough to know that Dynast Tweak was a fraud would know that a cub was a cub, regardless the color of its fur.

He turned. "I may be able to get rid of you yet, little cricket." His shifting movement caused his own un-bathed odor to trail up through his cloak to his nostrils. He winced, recalling the curious stares the Vicodians gave him at the temple site, due to his potent alien scent.

"But first, I must cleanse myself. There's no point in seeking the radicals out discreetly if I'm alerting every passerby of who I am."

At least they had a form of plumbing and running water. The hot spray spewed forth from jets that peppered the shower wall, top to bottom. It pelted his body vigorously, pressurized for penetrating the grime from fur, not slick skin. It was a welcomed massage, and he only wished he had the time to enjoy it more.

As he lathered himself with the liquid emulsifier, he glanced outside the stall to make sure the cub was still there. He remembered Trunks at that age, and Vegeta wasn't about to take any chances by letting her out of his sight.

She was curled on the floor meekly, with a dish of water in front of her face. He'd tossed down a couple rations, but she didn't seem to have much appetite. Considering her past couple days, he wasn't surprised.

Satisfied that she'd stay put, he tilted his head back and let the Vicodian shower do its work. His thoughts trailed to the Cur district. A muddy, dismal community whose buildings sank, and streets buckled as though weighted down by the perpetual night. He'd been there on occasion for things not found in the inner province, and racked his brain for where he'd stop first in his search for Vronesh.

He opened his eyes against the stream. _How the hell am I going to find the radicals?!_ He'd been so relieved at figuring out a solution, that he hadn't considered how difficult it might be. Especially if Vronesh didn't want to be found. He growled, the sound echoing in the stall, and looked through slitted eyes over at the cub.

And she was gone.

He swore. "Cricket!"

The bundle of obsidian fur came skidding around the corner, her paws slipping on the tile for purchase. She nearly threw herself in the stall, her blue eyes distraught…alarmed.

"Bad Ch-chosen!" she whimpered in a helium-pitched voice. "H-here!"

Vegeta's shoulders tensed. He sent out his feelers and sensed a presence within the walls of his residence. Cursing himself for not noticing the intrusion, he stepped out of the stall, and held his finger to his lips for the cub to be silent. So someone was there, eh? Well, they picked the wrong place to break into. Especially if they saw the cub.

Undressed and soaking wet, he powered up enough to slip through the darkened hallway and into the dim front room at an unnoticeable speed. Within a half second he had the imposter pinned to the wall with an extended arm, his fingers curling around a fine, velveteen throat. The individual wore a violet cloak of the Chosen, hiding its face in a hood, but by the effeminate gasp, he guessed it was a 'she'.

And the female went completely rigid, making no effort to free herself. Vegeta's lip curled. Apparently she knew better.

"You broke into my living quarters, foolish Vicodian," he grated, the words slicing through his teeth like daggers. "I've annihilated entire planets for lesser offenses."

Her breath hitched, and he could see her paws clenching and unclenching at her sides. He stared hard into the shadows of the cloak.

"You've got three seconds to talk me out of killing you," he threatened. "Speak."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

He could feel her swallow against his palm through the smooth, feathery fur of her neck. A small gurgle emanated from the folds of the cloak, and he loosened his hand enough to free up her vocal cords. 

_Hn. Just as fragile as the cub._

"Divinity… _Royalty_," she choked. "You can only claim to be one…Prince Vegeta," she brought her hand up and rested her fingers against his slippery forearm in a placating gesture, "for servant of Ganja, you are _not_."

_Huh?_ He let her go and stepped back. "Who told you about my heritage?"

She exhaled audibly and sank against the wall. Then to his aggravated surprise, she chuckled. Nervously, albeit, but chuckled nonetheless - as though she'd caught him in a bluff. "Oi," she gasped, "You really scared me there. And to think I was going to ask you how your day was!"

His eyebrow twitched in bafflement.

She cocked her head. "Well, I suppose introductions are in order," she stated as she threw her hood back. "The name's Mo."

Vegeta's eyes widened marginally, drinking up her presence in less than a second. She barely came to his chin in height, her bushy, gray tail swaying behind her like a palm tree in a tempest. Her black, sleek hair flopped down about her shoulders in a careless, youthful fashion, framing an expressive mammalian face. Accessories consisted of small silver hoops adorning her tipped ears, and a blue, metallic headband that complimented the violet hue of her elite robe.

The velvety appearance of the fur on her face was incredibly dynamic, shimmering white streaked with obsidian. He forced his eyes to thin back to slits, his impression of the intruder being…well…there was no other way to put it. The Vicodian was stunning.

"Well, I…" Mo caught her breath, and irises the color of shadow dialated dramatically, as they in turn took in his appearance, trailing his dripping wet bod from head to toe. "You're, uh…not dressed," she swallowed, her eyelids swelling, "at _all_…"

_Stunning, but scatterbrained._ Vegeta's lip curled in a nasty snarl. "I asked you a question."

She shook herself. "Right. Well, uh," she winced, trying to keep her eyes on his face. "Your comrade, Radditz. My…mother…was his sheba."

_Radditz, you bigmouthed fool,_ Vegeta thought in disgust. _Trumpeting around like a damned soothsayer to your Vicodian prostitutes. _"Why are you here?"

She gulped. "I knocked, and no one answered, then I saw the sacred guard coming and," she blinked and her eyes focused on something behind him. "Oh…" she smiled triumphantly, the dim light of the room reflecting off of perfect, even teeth. "I _knew_ it was you."

He frowned and turned around. Peeking around the hallway corner with those same blue eyes that manipulated him into bringing her here, was the sacrifical cub. And she was eyeing the intruder with more threats than the thing could possibly carry out. He bit back a swear word. "I told you to stay put, cricket."

The little one's posture went from attack-mode to worried as her intense gaze rallied between the two. Then with a whimper, she scuttled across the floor, and leapt at Vegeta. He instinctively held his hands out to catch her as he would a ki blast, but she caught his leg and climbed up his back. He winced as her tiny claws dug into his bare shoulder, more perplexed at her behavior than angry.

She hissed and pawed at the air threateningly, perched next to his neck. Vegeta snorted. The cub couldn't intimidate a rodent, let alone defend him from one. It was like a sparrow chirping at a storm cloud to stay away from its tree. He might have laughed had he not needed to project surliness for the occasion...and had he not been so bewildered as to why the cub felt so protective of him.

"Well, I'll be," Mo said, more amused at the cub's ferociousness than put off. "She actually likes you…"

Vegeta glared, and she began to ramble.

"Not that you're not a likeable alien! I-I'm sure you have _plenty_ of friends." Then she held a finger to her chin, and her face scrunched in thought. "Though you do make a living out of murdering innocent people…"

Vegeta gritted his teeth, nonplussed about the liberties Radditz had taken in divulging so much information to a society where they'd agreed to remain enigmatic.

She shrugged. "Anyhow, I was standing next to you at the ceremony when you disappeared." She stopped momentarily as her nose crinkled at the memory. "Your scent was…_overwhelming_."

He quirked his brow at her.

"Oh! I didn't imply... Well, Ok. Maybe I did.," she stammered, backpedaling. "But it's irrelevant anyhow considering that your pungent odor has been remedied, right?" She flung her hand pointedly at his soaking, bathed form, and then flinched as her eyes were again drawn downwards. "Good Ganja," she huffed in embarrassment. "Are you sure you don't want to put anything on?"

Vegeta's patience was wearing thin. "Why the hell would they send me a sheba who is unaccustomed to nudity!?"

"I'm not a sheba-"

"Besides, I didn't request you--" he paused. "Wha--?"

"Well why would you?" she asked honestly. "I mean, being impotent and all…"

Vegeta choked. "Impotent?!"

"Radditz told my mother that you were-"

"I'M NOT IMPOTENT!" he roared, startling the cub on his shoulder. He pointed at his anatomy which, thanks to her striking appearance, had the typical organic response. "Do I LOOK impotent to you?!" Oh, it was a good thing that Radditz was already dead. He half considered committing suicide right then, just so he could go and kick his comrade's ass in hell. "Do I?!"

He inched closer and her ears flattened. "I…I don't know!"

Vegeta nearly fell over. "What do you mean you don't know? Egads, female. Do I have to prove it to you?"

She squeaked and shook her head emphatically. "No! Nononono--"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"I NEED YOUR HELP!" she countered with equal intensity and then cowered apologetically, lowering her voice nearly to a whisper. "I need your help…"

"What do you think I am? A damn do-gooder?"

"Well, you saved the cub-"

"Perhaps my motives were darker than you assume." Exactly _which_ darker motives, he had no idea…something he tried desperately not to let on.

She glanced from his face to the little black fur ball perched on his shoulder. "Oh, I doubt that, Prince Vegeta," she said, looking at him knowingly. "You were growling, you know. Before you destroyed the temple. I thought the ground was about to start shaking again until I realized the sound was coming from you."

Vegeta was taken aback. _I was visibly agitated?_ Disconcerting, it was. Especially considering that he'd thought himself objectively calm right up until he unwittingly stopped the sacrifice. Regardless, it was none of her business. "So?"

Her expression grew passionate, her hands animating her words. "So you were angry. Furious at the injustice! Vegeta, the mighty servant of Ganja decided to defy the Vicodian god and snatch his sacrifice-"

"I didn't _decide_ to do anything," he snapped, not liking one iota that she'd just hit a sore point dead on. "You analyze too much."

"I do. Part of the reason I need your help." She clasped her hands in front, and bowed her head submissively, with her stormy, pleading eyes locked on his face.

Vegeta shook his head, wondering for the fiftieth time how it was he had gotten himself into this mess. Wondering how it was that she was still alive - and annoying him greatly. "Get out. Leave. And not a single word to anyone about the cub, or I _will_ hunt you down and kill you."

She sighed, her pretty bifurcated lips quivering over unvoiced words. The cub slashed at her for emphasis.

"Oh, come now," she argued, more stubbornly. "You at least have to hear me out."

"Whatever it is, I won't do it. You're wasting your time!"

She exhaled relief, and winked at him. "Good. I'll make it brief." She flicked the tip of her tail at his nose and sauntered over to a cushion, sitting down on her haunches.

"YOU-" his words were silenced as a finely woven robe of purples and blues was tossed at his lower half. He caught it and scowled at her.

"If you don't cover yourself, Prince Vegeta, then I'll have to speak with my eyes closed," she explained matter-of-factly, now attired in just a small, shimmering underslip.

He gawked at her, stupefied by her audacity. Then he shook himself. That's it. She was getting tossed out. Right now. He took a step towards her…

"I'm part of an underground radical movement against Dynast Tweak."

And stopped. _Lucky little..._ He glanced at the cub and then back at her. "Then you know Mohonro Vronesh."

Her brows raised and she looked at him in wonderment. "I do."

"I need to find him."

"Oh. Well, uh…that can be arranged, I suppose."

"Tell me where he is."

She clicked her tongue at him. "Oh sure. Like I'm going to divulge Vicodin's best kept and most coveted secret when I'm not even sure where your loyalties lie."

"You just offered!"

She frowned and tapped her chin with a long, painted nail. "Ah. You're right. I did."

Vegeta fought the urge to smack his forehead with the heel of his hand. He fought the urge to do a lot of things to the Vicodian. Acting on impulse is what had landed him in this mess to begin with.

"Why do you want to see him, anyhow?"

Vegeta thought about giving the cub to this female, but she'd probably take the child to the sacred guard on accident, and tell them exactly who had given the missing sacrifice to her. _Screw it, _he thought._ I'm going direct. _"That's not your concern."

She pursed her lips and looked at him as though it _was_ her concern. There was something weird about her demeanor, right then. He might have put his finger on it had she not continued to babble.

"We've been circulating these fliers, trying to open the minds of our people. And one of ours was caught in the act. Dink is his name. They're going to execute him at the Sumdim tomorrow."

His muted scrutiny was interspersed with a quick recollection of the Sumdim - a biannual ceremony held in honor of Ganja where the dynast addressed everyone. Even the Curs. He looked down at her expensive violet cloak balled in his fist as something occurred to him. "You. You're a Chosen."

She hesitated at the change in subject, then nodded.

"Why the hell would you want to undermine the very system that keeps you pampered?" For a split second, he thought he saw something dark flit across her eyes. It was a first, and he wondered how many facets of her personality he hadn't seen yet.

"I have my reasons."

He could respect that. But he didn't have to care. "So you want me to salvage another sacrifice victim? Forget it. It's not my problem."

"Well, it's a little more complicated than that-"

"I've humored you long enough," he said heatedly. "Take me to Vronesh. Now."

Her face creased in a disapproving frown, as though she'd expected something different. From him, no less. It was ludicrous. The Vicodian squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowing to slits. "No."

He growled. "You will."

"I won't!" She stood to her feet, with her hands on her hips. Her tail stood rigidly behind her, flicking angrily when she spoke. "You know, you've got a lot of good deeds ahead of you if you're ever going to make up for destroying 142 civilizations, Prince Vegeta!"

He gawked. Radditz had even bragged about the exact number!? He felt the blood rush to his face. "I don't have to make up for anything!" he yelled. "I am a prince of a-"

"--proud warrior race. Yeah yeah yeah. I know. All that power, and from what I've heard you've done nothing but abuse it. Just like Dynast Tweak."

His lips chewed over unvoiced invective, and the cub whimpered as his ki flared. "Do not compare me to that old fool," he seethed, the words rolling off his tongue like lead weights. "I am nothing like him!"

She approached him, and got so close to his face, he felt her breath on his chin. "Then prove it."

Vegeta gaped, his utter lack of composure only lasting a few seconds. But it was long enough to enable her to snatch her cloak back from him, and storm past, her hypnotic tail swaying in rigid irritation. She spun around as she grabbed the door slipping her robe back on and fastening it in the front. She locked him in her stare.

"I'll be back after you've thought it over," she threatened and then left him there, fuming like a geyser.

It took a moment for a coherent thought to push through the red lining of his incredulity. And when it did, he got dressed and shifted the cub to the nook of his arm. Her wide blue eyes stared at his face, and she blinked.

"G-go?"

He tucked her into the folds of his cloak, out of sight. "We're going, alright," he muttered as he walked out the door and into the night. "She's taking me to Vronesh, whether she likes it or not. And then I can drop you off, and forget this whole thing ever happened!"

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

** **

* * *

**

_CHAPTER 6_

**

It was the Vicodian's sleeping cycle, and after witnessing the obliteration of the sacrificial tower on the perimeter of the inner province, the fur-faced fanatics were all trembling safely in their homes. And the dirt-packed streets of the dreary Cur district were vacant.

Except for her.

For being a Chosen, Mo moved through the cluttered roads, and dark alleys of the outer province as comfortably as a snake in a swamp. Her violet cloak flapped about her body like a bat wing as she strode with purpose and haste, reflecting the lazy haze of yellowed lamps that dotted the province. For all her scatter-brained dialogue from earlier, Vegeta found himself wondering if she was indeed more competent than he'd assumed.

Following her had been easy enough. Moving faster-than-sight was simple, but every time the Saiyan would advance, a warm little fuzz ball, snuggled securely against his chest, mewled from fright. He swiveled them around a jagged corner of an alley.

"_Shhh_." He braced the cub within the folds of his cloak, as he had been doing this whole time. She was shaking under his palm, her nails embedded in his skin. His coarse thumb absently feathered the fur behind her ears until she simmered down. There was something discomforting about her distress, and a part of him was reluctant to pass the child off on complete strangers when for some wild reason, she'd already found comfort in Vegeta's presence.

Him. A xenocide soldier. With more blood on his hands than anyone left in this dimension… "If you had any idea…" he began in hushed tones, but his attention was redirected as Mo's figure veered off to the right.

He watched discreetly from within the black shadows of his hood to watch the Vicodian female turn with a flourish, and vanish down behind some run down tavern not far off.

"So it's _there_, is it…" The shadows-and-ash structure looked no different from any other – just as sagged and dismal as the rest of the rowed buildings in the Cur district.

But the _sound_… There was a distinct sound emanating from the tavern walls. Vegeta neared, making sure the cub and his face were well-hidden. Yes. There was a rhythm…a deep bass thrumming that was interspersed with short staccato squeaks of a melodic sort.

Music. Cur music. Much less refined than what the Chosen produced.

But just as irritating.

"Be still," he whispered, giving Cricket a gentle shake. His patience was wearing thin, and stealth wasn't his preferred method of infiltration. Ki reflexively burned in his palms, itching to solve his dilemma with the usual brute strength, but he clenched his hand into a fist.

Damn that planet earth and its inhabitants. They had changed him forever.

En lieu of blasting the door, he grabbed the rusty old handle and walked right in. The eerie melody jumped out and smacked him in the face like a bitch slap from Kakkarot. He couldn't decide what was more torturous. The deep bass whoom, or the whistle-pitched scale on top.

Cold Saiyan eyes assessed the situation with practiced brevity. It was an underground club. That much was clear – dim lighting, a spacious nearly-empty floor, with a low ceiling and musicians practicing on a raised stage to his right… The instruments each had cylindrical horns attached to them to amplify sound. Only a smattering of Vicodians – all of them, Curs – were in the room, collected in small groups chatting loudly over the spine-straightening music.

One of them was so bold as to stride up to him and try to see his face from within the darkness of his hood. "Greetings," the Cur bowed respectfully, but he didn't cower. None of them did. This crew obviously had a higher sense of self-worth than they were supposed to have. "We don't get many of the _elite_—" was it Vegeta's imagination, or did he draw the honorific out mockingly? – "here. After this night's events, I'm afraid the club is rather dull at the moment—"

To hell with subtlety. "Take me to Vronesh."

The Cur's pupils shrunk, and his lips pulled back momentarily to show a row of sharp teeth. "I…I don't know what you're—"

With one hand securely bracing the trembling cub, Vegeta lanced his other one out and lifted the Cur off the floor. "Take me to—" a quick movement in his peripheral vision distracted him, and he looked over in time to see a frantic Vicodian disappear down a hall at the south end of the room.

Dropping his gasping victim, the Saiyan prince crossed the floor at an invisible speed and followed the fleeing figure. Its erratic panting and scuffling footsteps ricocheted along the walls, easily masking Vegeta's own. The hallway turned to stairs that dropped down and curled to a lower level. They came to a brightly lit room, alive with the mechanical grindings of machinery, and the smell of oils, and inks. Hesitant, Vegeta hung back. _So this is where their printing press is…_

"Mo!" Oblivious to his presence, the informer scampered in, nearly falling in his haste.

"Ah! Scallywag," Mo's voice hollered over the machine. "Do me a favor and tell the musicians to start playing again. Here they go and stop, right in the middle of a print—"

"S-s-someone's here! A Chosen!"

Pause. "Eh?"

"A Chosen?" Another voice, male.

"He just barged in, and then picked Cephus up like he weighed nothing. He wants to see—"

Vegeta walked into the room, and the informant Scallywag squeaked and scrambled to the opposite side of the wall. The other male – larger in stature than most - tensed into a defensive crouch, and Mo… Well, she went completely rigid.

Identity still hidden from them, Vegeta strode over to the loud mechanism, and picked up one of the yellowed fliers…very similar to the ones Dynast Tweak had shown him just the day before. "_The Chosen. A Caste of Liars. Falsehoods Abound_," he read the title of the latest issue of the revolt, revealing his voice.

Mo choked. "Vegeta!"

He pulled his hood back, and hmph'd. "Not a bad idea. Masking the sound of your printing press with your detestable music."

The bulkier Vicodian stepped back in alarm. "The alien!"

Vegeta scowled. He'd gone from being deity, to royalty, to simply 'the alien' in just one day. He'd never been demoted so fast.

Mo's tail twitched about her ears, her slanted eyes wide with apprehension. "How did you…" she then grimaced, and smacked her own forehead. "Ugh. You followed me here."

"You were an idiot to think I wouldn't. With such carelessness, it's a shock to think your little uprising hasn't been discovered yet."

"How…how does he know you?" the stronger male asked her. Mo's eyelids swelled timidly, and she started to shuffle her feet.

"Well, I uh…I thought that maybe he could help us rescue Dink."

Scallywag gaped. "What? Him!?" The scrawny, bug-eyed Cur huffed. "Good Ganja, Mo. What made you think...?"

She perked, and her slivered eyes disappeared in a good-natured smile. "It's quite amazing, really. He—"

"Enough," Vegeta barked, far from eager to let the whole Cur district know that the'd rescued the cub. He pointed at their printing press, his finger pulsing with energy. "Vronesh. Now. Or I blow it up."

Mo stammered. They all eyed him nervously, and a barrage of Vicodians burst into the room from upstairs. Bifurcated, furry faces open in an assortment of shocked expressions. Vegeta's pulse quickened with irritation. This was getting far too tedious.

The one he'd assaulted at the front door barreled through them. "Mo! Are you--!?"

"I'm fine, Cephus. We're fine. It's all fine."

Cephus' jaw dropped. "It was the alien!?"

The Saiyan prince's lip twitched. "_Mo…_"

She gulped. "Right. Uh, brethren? Will you leave us alone for a bit?"

Cephus rubbed his neck where Vegeta had lifted him, and hissed. "Are you insane?"

"I imagine if he came here to hurt us, he would have done so already," Mo said with a placating gesture. Vegeta held his tongue. If he gave into his instincts now, the entire crew by the door would have been blasted to the next dimension. And he doubted they'd be very receptive to the cub if he offed half of them in the process.

After a moment, they started to filter out, some tossing threatening glances in Vegeta's direction, while most stared apprehensively.

"I'll be fine." Mo said, ushering them out. "Really!"

A little more persuasion and the rest of them left, slowly feeding back into the hallway like a withdrawing sea urchin. The scuffling stopped just out of sight, as they no doubt halted in the hallway to eavesdrop. Vegeta ignored them. At least they weren't cluttering his sight.

Mo turned to him, her tail a clear sign of her confused wariness. She thumbed her lips. "And here I thought you'd had it with me."

"I had."

"Then why did you follow—"

"OhwillyoujustgetmeVronesh!" His pitch startled the cub. The cub burrowed into his pecks. His pecks convulsed, the nerves ricocheting all the way to his hand, which twitched on reflex and… _Aw, shit._ Sparks flew as his unauthorized ki blast pulsed out and soldered a manual clamp on the printing press.

Vegeta swore. Mo yelped and fell back, and the cub went rigid with panic.

_'My press'_ Mo mouthed, and then a choked gurgle. "My printing press…" Her arms dropped, and her voice jumped up an octave and cracked. "MY PRINTING PRESS!!"

_Oh, for crying out--_ "It's not like I obliterated it."

"You furless brute!" she ran over to it, and started caressing the machine like a wounded pet. "You don't know what we went through to get this thing…"

A high-pitched whimper cut her off. Mo straightened.

"What was that?" Her gaze fixed on his chest. Or more accurately, the moving lump snuggled within his cloak. "What…do you have?"

_Dammit_… He released his grip on the cub, realizing a little too late that he'd probably been suffocating her. She dropped out by his feet, and rolled on the ground with glazed, sapphire eyes.

Mo startled. "Oh!" She took a step back. "You brought her _here_…"

Vegeta looked painstakingly down at his cargo, and then back at Mo. _Ah, screw it. _To hell with Vronesh. Besides, from what he'd seen, Mo apparently was far from an underling in the radical ranks. And that should be good enough. "I'm leaving this backwards hell hole of a planet. The cub is yours."

The ship's console blinked up at him through the bleak darkness of the ship. Vegeta studied the buttons, and contemplated the coordinates logged in its system. He hadn't meant to come straight here. At least he should have gone back to his quarters, and stocked up on what was left of the food.

But leaving the cub in the hands of strangers wasn't as cut and dry as he had anticipated. It confused him…conflicted him, and he rushed back here in a near panic. It wasn't that the rebellion was unwilling to take the cub in… They were. It was just that when the little critter tugged on his cloak, and looked up at him like that, with those melancholy, cerulean eyes…

Vegeta shook himself. No dignity. These people taught their children no dignity. Even Trunks knew better than to show his tears. The boy must have swallowed them down more times than Vegeta could count…

_Agh…_ That annoying pang in his chest flared up again. _I've got to get out of here._

His fingers bounced away on the pad almost frantically, blipping up maps and logs. His eyes scanned over them. Dr. Briefs had entered in the coordinates of every alien planet he'd learned about. They weren't many, but one of a particular interest caught his attention.

Yadrat.

Home of the creatures who had taught Kakkarot that cursed Instant Transmission trick. That would definitely be a skill worth his time to acquire. And it couldn't have been that bad of a place. Even the goody goody Kakkarot had abandoned his wife and son for years to live there.

He plugged it in as the destination. Vicodin was no longer conducive to his training regimen. It was simple. An easy decision to make. Which is why his unease with leaving was so frustrating. As though he were running away…

Vegeta gritted his teeth, and pounded his knee with his fist. _There's no enemy, here. No tangible threat to my strength. Nothing to flee FROM_, "I'm NOT running away!," he mouthed in a strangled whisper.

On some demented cue, a pleading black-furred face with eyes so like his son's surfaced again on the backs of his eyelids. He barred it. _The cub's well-being is not my problem_…

The engines fired up loudly. Mercifully. Welcoming the thought-halting noise, Vegeta leaned back and strapped into the seat. He'd been in such a hurry to leave, that he'd slipped into the ship without drawing notice from the nearby Chosen. So needless to say, the few that were stationed about the launch pad were shouting and running about in a panic, no doubt wondering who the hell was stealing the Servant of Ganja's ship.

"Good riddance," Vegeta muttered, not feeling half as indifferent about his departure as he would have liked. He closed his eyes as the thunderous vibrations of the machine escalated…and escalated…and escalated…

And stopped.

_Hn?_ The engines…the revs had lost momentum. Vegeta sat forward, and glared anxiety at the console. He tapped the start up button repeatedly, nearly puncturing the fiberglass in the process. It did nothing. The jets petered out, and died.

"You've got to be kidding me." Vegeta slapped the orange blitzing light on the console. A mechanical voice lilted through the chamber with the last thing the departing prince wanted to hear.

"Energy low. Energy low. Energy—"

He shut it off, swore liberally and ran his hands through his hair. "Great…" The tension in his neck left knots that nearly touched his earlobes. Psychologically, he was beginning to wonder if he was leaving in a worse mess than he'd arrived in. One thing was for sure. This planet hadn't helped him any. He'd just been here barely two cycles, and had already lost his focus. He hadn't really thought of Kakkarot since…since the cub…

_Feh._ His hand jerkily reached out and slapped the communications nodule to Capsule Corp. He didn't realize until after it started beeping that Bulma might be the one to pick up the receiving end. He held his breath, and exhaled relief when an elderly, moustached face popped up on the monitor. Dr. Briefs.

Smile. Nod. "Ah, Vegeta. I had anticipated you'd be calling sooner than later."

"It needs to be recharged."

"I know, I know. It wasn't fueled up, and you left here in such a hurry, that I forgot to show you how." Dr. Brief's constant good cheer had never ceased to amaze Vegeta. Here he was, chatting amiably to the man who had just abandoned his only daughter and grandson without so much as an apology. Vegeta only wished his brain were that simple.

Wait, no. He looked at the doctor more closely. There _was_ agitation. It was slight. The avoidance of eye contact…an extra sag to his wrinkled cheeks. _Finally, some emotion in the old geezer. Hn. Leave it to me to bring it out in him._

"So...does it need fuel?"

"It needs charge, which you can get from solar energy. There's a latch in the roof of the pod, that opens up a battery tank up top. Do you see it?"

Vegeta craned his neck back. It took a moment. "I see a panel, with a red-handled crank."

"That's it."

"How long will it take?" He crossed his fingers.

"If it's low enough to give you the warning signal, then approximately 504 hours to fill her up…three earth weeks, give or take."

"So long!?"

"It's actually quite efficient, if you consider the circumstances of being on a primitive planet."

Vegeta swore. What could he do? And then he realized, "Primitive planet? You've been keeping track of me…"

Dr. Briefs looked down, and started to frown at his hands. An awkward moment of silence passed between them. So the doctor had secretly been monitoring his travels. It opened up venues of Vegeta's heart that he'd shut off when he left. Making him remember. Making him wonder… "I imagine they're better off without me there…" It was as uncomfortable to bring up as it was to think about. What was he doing?

Something flashed across Dr. Brief's face, too hidden behind facial hair to interpret. The elderly man looked up and exhaled heavily through his nose. "Only time will tell, Vegeta. But…" his expression grew hard. "It did take a while for the boy to stop crying."

Vegeta closed his eyes. Ugh…so damn uncomfortable. His reasons for leaving were valid, dammit. Besides, it was for the best. He'd seen what earth considered good parenting skills, and he had none of them.

"Royal Saiyan blood runs through Trunks' veins. He'll survive."

Nod. "Yes, I'm sure he will. As will Bulma, though I don't know that she'll ever forgive you for leaving them."

Vegeta's eyes widened marginally. It wasn't like the doctor to be so blunt. "I never expected her to understand."

"At least your absence here has been alleviated somewhat by Goku, who seems to be back to his old self."

A hissing intake of breath. _Kakkarot…?_ Then, more soberly, _Fool. Of course he would be there. The goofy lout is probably giving Trunks and Bulma more attention than I have in the past five years. _

His lips thinned with the pangs of jealousy – not unlike the anger he felt when he'd shown up at Roshi's island to find them in each other's arms. But this time…something was different. Vegeta frowned, trying to pinpoint it. Interspersed with his primal, territorial indignation was an odd, strange…sensation of…_relief?_ As though an unacknowledged burden had just been lifted off his shoulders. It made no sense.

_Hn. It's not like they wouldn't have pulled through. My father was killed when I was five, and I was stronger because of it._

But yet _some_thing was easing his conscience. He couldn't deny it, so he forced himself to acknowledge the vibe. "Tell…" his throat tightened, and he swallowed down his pride. There were no better hands for Bulma and Trunks to be in, than his old enemy's. "Tell Kakkarot to take good care of them."

Dr. Brief's eyes widened in momentary surprise, and then after a moment, softened. "I will."

The doctor's face faded and blitzed out, as Vegeta abruptly cut the transmission short. He leaned his elbows wearily on the control panel with his head hanging between his shoulders. So many thoughts were pingponging around in his mind, he couldn't have trusted himself to make another coherent statement. Trunks…Bulma… Kakkarot… Mixed feelings abounded. It almost left him questioning exactly what he hoped to obtain while out here. It was supposed to be the strength to finally beat his nemesis.

_Is it still that simple?_

He sighed heavily. _Feh. It sure used to be._

Now he couldn't help but to wonder if physical training wasn't the only way to regain a sense of dignity. That there might be better venues for rebuilding who he was.

His eyes trailed out to the horizon that bisected the bubble glass window. Dusk was about to peak again, already growing faintly orange amidst the blues and purples. This planet, and these people…he'd be stuck with both for the next three weeks. He could ignore the planet's political unrest and forget about the cub's woeful sapphire eyes, or Mo's valiant, but clumsy attempt to revolutionize Vicodin's social structure, as he trained out in the desert.

But then he'd be alone, with no distraction from this vortex of confusion that was his mind. And when he wasn't alone, he'd be pestered relentlessly by that moron Tweak and his self-important acolytes. The destruction of a sacrificial tower wasn't something they were going to get over. And since the Chosen were convinced that Vegeta was the direct link to their great God, Ganja…

He was getting a headache, just thinking about it.

The Saiyan stood to his feet, and rubbed his forehead vigorously. A part of him couldn't believe he was even considering the last option… But joining with Mo most certainly wouldn't be boring. And it would give him the upper hand in _something_, which would be a welcome change of circumstance since the rest of his life seemed to be spitting all over him…

_Besides,_ he thought with a mental smirk, _I'd like to see the look on Tweak's face when his world is flipped upside down by the insects at his feet._

"Alright then, Vronesh…you elusive, enigmatic son of a bitch," he cracked his knuckles and straightened his spine, looking decisively out over the low gray buildings of the Cur district. "You just got yourself one hell of an ally."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

_Just a quick revisit of who everyone is, here: _

**Dink** – the reason Mo wanted to recruit Vegeta in the first place. Dink was captured distributing fliers, and is going to be sacrificed at a biannual ceremony called the Sumdim, coming up.

**Cephus** – a radical, comrade of Mo's.  
**Acolyte Peyote** – captured by Mo. One of Dynast Tweak's head councilmen. 

Okay. Disclaimer. You may have noticed, but I'm not taking the nomenclature too seriously... I'll probably add some more angsty Vegeta introspection later. When my mind is fresh. Right now, I just want to finish the fic. So forgive me for the choppy, unpolished chapters!

**

_CHAPTER 7_

**

* * *

"Acolyte Peyote—"

"Peyote, Peyote," responded the slurred, groggy voice, "Peyototee...PeyotePeyote. A good name. A proper name--"

"Acolyte—"

"Yes yes. I became an acolyte at th-th-the tender age of thhhh…" _hiccup_, grin, "thirty-five. Fit to practice righteous dominion over the elite, and judgment over the lowly Curs—"

A furred fist slammed on the table. "Peyote!"

Dynast Tweak's drugged acolyte yelped. "M-m-mother?"

Cephus spun around with his cloaked head in his hands, rattling off in a strained hush to Mo, "We don't have time for this, Mo. The Sumdim is in _two hours!_ How the hell do you get them to focus on this drug?"

"Ah, well…it does seem rather difficult, doesn't it?" Nervous laugh. "Perhaps I can try."

Vegeta watched the interrogation in a state of disturbed intrigue. Mo, hooded as a Cur like the rest of them, approached their prisoner with hands clasped non-threateningly in front. Peyote's lackluster face was blank, with wet lines of drool matting the fur under his chin. And his eyes were near-lifeless…glazed, hypnotized. They bounced at her, and then fixed on some random point in the room.

Vegeta shivered. Something about the drug made him incredibly uneasy. He couldn't even watch the process without wincing in distaste. "This is a coward's method of interrogating," he informed Cephus. "You should give the acolyte a chance to keep his dignity, and let me bleed the answers out of him instead."

Cephus' head swiveled on his neck. "Eh…ex_cuse_ me?"

"It would give him a choice."

"A choice for what?

_Uncivilized moron… _"To retain his sense of honor, of course!"

"You…" Cephus cleared his throat. "You mean to tell me that you'd rather be maimed and tortured to death, than—"

"Than be subjected to that _poison_, yes." All day long. Why didn't the fool get it? An awkward silence passed between them as Mo continued her questioning.

Vegeta hmph'd, and crossed his arms in front. The acolyte's expression switched from a sloppy grin to a boohoozing frown, triggered by something Mo said. Then the undignified thing began to speak in weepy gibberish. Vegeta turned away. _Ugh. Disgusting._ "So what is it? A gas? A pill? A serum?"

Cephus still regarded him apprehensively, but after a moment, shrugged. "Serum. Administered by injection, ingestion…can even work as a topical if it sits on your skin long enough. It has a bazwali base."

Bazwali. Alcohol. Every world had its version of the drink. "Then why hasn't that nimrod, Tweak, used it on your captured comrade? He could have found everything out about you."

"You mean Dink?" Cephus shook his head. "Because no one else has it. Mo invented it."

It took Vegeta a moment to recover from the shock. "_Mo_?"

Cephus nodded. "She works in an apothecary in the inner province, after all. Oh, she's very resourceful. Don't let her…uh…" They both looked at the ditzy female as she fumbled over words, pacing sideways. Cephus sighed ruefully and shook his head.

"Oblivious…" Vegeta suggested.

After a moment he nodded. "_…oblivious_ nature fool you. She's also the one who snuck into Peyote's apartment, knocked him out and brought him back here in the short time you were absent."

Vegeta tried to cover up his shock with a smug, 'Hn'. "Funny. She doesn't look that strong."

"Not strength, Prince Vegeta." Cephus tapped his forehead. "Intellect."

_Hiccup, burp_. "Dink. That nasty de…de…despicable Cur…" Peyote's voice piped up, redirecting their attention. "Hate that bastard rodent…so damned tight-lipped, no matter what we d-d-did to him…"

Cephus growled, and Mo tensed considerably. Her voice dropped, suddenly sounding very _very_ serious. Very unlike her.

"You tortured him?"

Acolyte Peyote's head lolled around on his neck, and his eyes blinked lazily as he frowned at the hooded female before him. "Ugly ugly word, that. _Torture_. Makes us look like s-s-savages, when _we're_ the civilized ones here."

Mo cleared her throat. "But you tortured him. For information..."

"No different than slaughtering our cattle, maiming a Cur… If Ganja cared…cared one way or another about what we did to the lesser creatures, then he'd have st-struck us all down, by n-now. "

"I'll kill him," Cephus fumed. "Rip his tail off and shove it down his throat."

"Kill him?" Peyote responded with fogged eyes. "Oh, don't worry. We will. At the Sumdim. Say, Isn't the S-Sumdim…today?"

Mo's tail had gone from swaying sporadically to completely stiff. Several tense seconds passed. "Where…." She finally managed, "Where is your place in the ceremonial line up?"

Peyote's head lolled to the side, and fell forward on his chest. Vegeta thought he'd passed out until a crescendoing lyric trumpeted out of the acolyte's mouth. "First, first FIRST there-was-a-little-Chosen-leedle-leedle-lee-leelee-leelee—"

Vegeta grimaced at the sour melody. "…the hell?"

"A primary song," Cephus' lip twitched. "It's a primary song taught the Chosen when they are young."

"Annoying."

"Hn."

"So you are first in the Sumdim line up?" Mo asked the unfocused creature, more forcefully.

"NO!" Peyote barked, the timbre of his voice making his own eyes cross. He shook himself, and frowned. "Third…in the…Sumdim…up line, er, line up…"

"And your offering?"

Peyote put on a serious face and straightened his back in a dim remnant of self-superiority. "The Holy order of the Chosen will offer up the despicable Cur to the Mighty Ganja—"

"_Your_ offering, Peyote," Mo repeated. "What is your assigned offering in the Sumdim as an acolyte of Dynast Tweak?"

"Gnob."

"Excuse me?"

"The…"

"The Gnob?"

"Yes. The Gnob."

At Vegeta's unasked question, Cephus leaned over in a whisper, "A symbolic ornament carved from the bones of dead acolytes."

"Where is the Gnob?"

"In my…ceremonial cloak. Cl…closet…"

Mo tapped her finger to her chin thrice, and turned to face Vegeta and Cephus. She shrugged. "Can you think of anything else to ask him?"

Cephus pondered as Vegeta's attention was drawn back to Peyote. Their captive's expression had altered. Focused. On Mo. "Saayyeee…" he belched, blinked, and narrowed his eyes at her. "You sound an awful lot like that pretty intern at the Apothecary…"

Mo froze, and even through the shadows of her hood, Vegeta could see her eyes fling wide.

Cephus swallowed audibly. "Shit."

"C-come to think of it…" the old acolyte's eyes thinned even more, trying hard as they could to focus through the drug. "Your tail is full, and shapely…sways just like hers, too… The lovely female was just at my home tonight, dropping off my medications from the doctor..." He hiccupped again, and frowned at the floor.

Mo looked sick.

"Will he remember any of this?" Vegeta asked, quick on the uptake.

She nodded, and Cephus added. "All of it."

Peyote's eyes widened dramatically then, as though he'd just figured something out. "Apothecary intern! Apothecary intern!" the acolyte hollered, his shrill voice straightening their spines. He looked like he wanted to point at Mo, but his hands were still tied to the chair. "It's YOU! You're a traitor, aren't you!? One of the radicals! OH! OH! OH!"

"So what are you going to do with him?" Vegeta asked over Peyote's sudden hysterics.

"The servant of Ganja? He's in on this, too!?" Peyote interspersed their strained dialogue.

Vegeta scowled at the inconvenience of being recognized by voice, alone. He should have been more quiet. Mo caved in on herself, looking at their captive over her shoulder in dread apprehension. "I…I hadn't thought that far in advance," she laughed nervously, holding her head in her hands. "It was impulsive, bringing him here. But you had refused our help, and I panicked."

Cephus swore again, baring his fangs. "Don't look at me like that, Mo. I'm not watching him. We don't even have a place to keep a captive."

"True, true," her voice was wavering. "Maybe if we tied him up in his quarters—"

"Are you INSANE!?" Cephus shouted. "Do you forget how much Cur blood is on Peyote's hands? He was the one who executed the massacre on the horizon just four days ago! If he got back to Tweak with this, then all our work will be for nothing!! He'll have us all killed before--"

Mo batted at the air between them to calm Cephus down. "I'll think of something—"

"When!? The Sum Dim is next-to-now!"

"Let me get this straight," Vegeta drawled out. "You have here a Cur murderer."

Nod.

"Who has discovered who you are."

Nod.

"And will execute you if he escapes."

Nod.

Vegeta rolled his eyes, raised one muscle-knotted arm, aimed, and fired. The white-hot ki blast sizzled right through the hysterical acolyte's skull, erupting with fur and blood out the scalp in a sickening, wet pop. After a few jiggles, the acolyte Peyote slumped over in his chair, his ridiculous expression frozen in death.

"Oh…oh Ganja…" Mo covered her mouth, while Cephus leaned over the table and retched. "Ganja Ganja Ganja…" she uttered, gaping in horrified denial at the corpse. "You killed him…"

"This is a revolution!" Vegeta snapped. "If you thought it could be won by words alone, then you might as well lay your furry asses on that altar alongside your comrade." He turned with a flourish, and slammed the door open with his ki. "Go get that chicken-shit Vronesh," he ordered without turning around. "I want to be informed of your plans immediately. All of them."

He was going to end up carrying them. Vegeta knew it. These Vicodian rebels were idiots. All their idealistic, and impractical plans were going to fail, leaving the bulk of the movement on his shoulders. A bloodless revolution, indeed. Could they really be that ignorant?

_What have I gotten myself into?_

The Saiyan prince stood rigidly by a scum-covered basement window, scowling randomly at the Cur streets. It was all so filthy. The few that ambled by seemed to cower, and hobble. The Curs had been repressed for so long, they didn't even have enough self-respect to live like the sentient beings they were. Vronesh's biggest challenge wasn't going to be to overthrow the social structure of all of Vicodin. It was going to be to convince the Curs that they were worth more than dirt.

Because currently, they weren't.

"Eke teku bee bee?"

Vegeta looked sidelong at the black-furred, blue-eyed cub perched on his shoulder like a parrot. Unless he ordered her away, she was with him. Had leapt up and smothered him with little, rough-tongued kisses when he'd returned. The prince felt like he was supposed to shoo her away…and he no doubt would…as soon as he could remember exactly why he had an aversion to this kind of attentive nonsense…

Cricket blinked curiously at him and bumped his cheek with a wet, cold nose. He moved his head away, and snorted at the affection. "Your heritage is a joke, pup. You'd be better off escaping this planet, before it sucks the intelligence right out of your eyes. "

She cocked her head, and then nestled down onto her paws, staring out the window with him. "duga duga duga…eekie duga zimbatwoot…"

He shook his head in mild amusement as she spoke her gibberish. Whatever she was saying, it sounded pretty serious. After a couple seconds of watching her scowl, and warble her voice, it dawned on Vegeta that she was trying to mimic him.

He coughed surprise. "Silly creature. You have nothing to back it up." In a state of disturbed amusement, he continued observing her as she grumbled and spat, and ultimately tried to fold her paws across her chest. Except they weren't long enough. "I'm inclined to laugh at you," he said in the earth tongue, adding silently, _but somehow it feels as though I'd inadvertently be laughing at myself._

"Ah. There you are, Vegeta." Mo entered the room, walking briskly up to him with a large parchment unrolled in her hands. She still looked uneasy. Still disturbed by Vegeta's presence for killing Peyote. But what aggravated him most was that she was alone. And he'd specifically asked for--

"Are you mocking me? Was I not clear? Where's your—"

"Oh that," she laughed nervously, and lifted one hand to scratch the back of her head. "I'm it."

"Pardon?"

"Mohonro Vronesh. That's me."

Vegeta stared at her. She grinned ruefully, and shrugged. "Now here's what I was thinking," she quickly laid out the parchment as though the bit of news was nothing out of the ordinary. A long, painted nail tapped at a segment of what looked to be a layout of the Sumdim. "This is where Acolyte Peyote was assigned to sit. Cephus was going to wear his cloak, and carry his offering in disguise. I was hoping that _you_ would—"

"YOU'RE Mohonro Vronesh."

She paused. "Right. Now, as I was saying—"

"YOU'RE at the head of this uprising."

"Mm."

"Give me a moment," Vegeta closed his eyes and ran his fingers across his brow. It took about fifteen seconds to assimilate that the ditzy, naïve Chosen female was the leader of this underground group of Cur rebels. He had a hundred questions…a hundred questions that would have to wait. Vegeta shook himself, cleared his head, and exhaled heavily. "Alright. Continue."

* * *


End file.
